Two bowls of negus, white and red, constituted the beverage of refreshment, for the dancers; but they were press'd by many

"A vermeil-tinctured lip."

A brace of fiddlers, aided by a tabor and pipe, "poorly furnished forth" the music for the night; but the wretched combination of sounds, animated forms of symmetry, and countenances of loveliness.

The histrionic representations with which the Lymingtonians were often indulged, during the genial tide of summer, bore the same character of homeliness and simplicity (before the erection of the regular theatre at a subsequent period) with their Town-hall balls; but furnished, I verily believe, an equally unalloyed satisfaction, to the majority of those who attended them. A large barn, contiguous to the house in which we dwelt, was the temple, dedicated, on these occasions, to Thalia and Melpomene; and two or three cottages in its neighbourhood, while they afforded lodging to the kings, queens, and heroes of the buskin, when they had doffed their garbs of mimicry, and dropped again into common life; provided, at the same time, conveniences to the ladies and gentlemen of the company, to perform, in secrecy, those washings and mendings, of which their scanty wardrobe stood in such great and constant need. I must honestly

acknowledge, however, that this motley group, who, in their efforts to please, made nothing of "out-heroding Herod," and "tearing a passion "into rags," never affected my mind with any strong emotion. I could neither laugh at their grimaces, nor sympathise with their tears; and regarded those auditors, with a feeling something approaching to scorn, who appeared to be more moved than myself, with the business of the stage. The plain fact, indeed, seems to have been this my taste was refined even to fastidiousness. Like Goldsmith's critical lady at Tenterden, I had seen some plays in London, and was determined not to allow, that, out of a metropolitan theatre, there could be any dramatic performance, worthy the notice of a finished connoisseur.

But may not my reader very reasonably tax me, with a strange deviation from the professed subject of these volumes, in thus wandering into a description of habits of life, long since obsolete, and of forms of pleasure and amusement, which have no analogues among the fashionable recreations of these enlightened, and highly-polished days? May he not justly demand, "Where is "the relationship between such topics, light as "air,' and the grave and sober one of literary "recollections?" A few words in explanation, and apology for this apparent incongruity, and I close my second chapter.

Without adverting to that fond recollection of early happiness, which it is so natural to cherish, and so pardonable to dilate upon - not to remark that the foregoing picture of "bye-gone" social life, may be regarded in the light, of a tribute of gratitude to the memory of a departed friend, and of a somewhat curious display, of modes and customs, found in no page of the book of existing English manners- I would merely observe, that the scenes with which I have been just busied, and in which I mingled for some time, before my settlement in a provincial academy, were not altogether unconnected with my literary life; since, during this space, and whilst tasting these delights, I consorted chiefly with those who were very much my superiors in years; and added, daily, somewhat to the stock of my ideas, and the volume of my experience. The truth appears to be, that the progressive improvement of the understanding, does not so much depend on what we read, as on what we see and hear; associated with reflection, on all that is thus palpably presented to our observation. This is not only the great source and foundation of all practical knowledge; but, exercising thought, as it does, without intermission; and keeping the attention constantly on the alert; it invigorates, while it stores, the mind; and enables it to apply its powers with facility, and to direct them with success, to every

subject it may investigate; and to every branch of knowledge, which it shall be inclined to acquire.

I would wish to think and speak of myself, (in accordance with the pledge in my first page,) with all becoming modesty; and therefore put the observation hypothetically: that—if I left home for the school of Christ-church, Hants, with a maturity of understanding, and a range of ideas, not very generally found in a lad of eleven years old; the advantage of superiority, ought to have been entirely attributed, to that constant intercourse, which, during the interruption of my scholastic exercises, I had thus, happily, been permitted to enjoy, with such as were far better acquainted, with the human character, with formed manners, and with real life, than myself.

CHAP. III.

THE apology with which I concluded my last chapter, must be accepted for the subject of the present one; since the town of CHRIST-CHURCH, where I was destined to court the muses for the succeeding four years, was a place so completely sui generis during my residence there, that it demands as minute a description, as memory will enable me to present to the reader. The lapse of time has not, indeed, divested it of the former charms and peculiarities of its situation. Its rivers flow on as rapid and translucent, as, when I fished for minnows, or bathed my limbs, in their refreshing streams. The same daisied and luxuriant meadows are still spread around it. Its noble ruins continue to reflect the summer's sun, and brave the wintry blast; and the long Chine of Catherine-Hill, still losing itself in the distance to the north, lifts its head, as dark and bold, as when I and my compeers first climbed its side, and sported on its summit. * But the

* Vividly does the varied picture present itself to my mind, when memory recalls the interesting scene; and, however humble the stanzas may be, (which were written many years ago,) yet clear recollection assures me, the description